


A Storm of Crows

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Series: Lies, Misdirection, and Terrible Truth [3]
Category: Irish Mythology, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: GFY, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-17 13:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/552171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And who are you, that commands the loyalty of the chosers of the slain?"</p>
<p>"I am the Morrigan, young one. I <i>am</i> the choser of the slain. The battle-queen, whose subjects are phantoms."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Storm of Crows

He'd met her first on an empty battlefield, the fight long enough over that it's gone from living memory. Standing with her arms wide as crows dance around her, swooping and calling. Bloody beauty, only interesting in that she's been standing there for days, everytime he wanders by this little bit of Midgard as he goes to meet his current teacher. And perhaps also for the crows, since he doubts any mortal would have crows doing such a thing. Unless they're dead, and she's most certainly not.

"Do you watch me, or them, young one?" Her voice is an unexpectedly harsh sound, closer to the calls of the birds than a voice that he would expect from a woman's throat. Her eyes are dark, nearly as black as those of the crows. Watching him with a hooded gaze, amusement and curiosity. "They've seen you for quite a time."

He's always thought of corvids - ravens and crows alike - as the eyes of Odin, his spies and messengers. The All-Father wouldn't hide as a woman, though, and there's something strange about her, something that is perhaps more akin to the Svartalfar than anything else, though she does not appear as misshapen as those creatures.

"Why do they watch me?" And by extension, why does she watch him, but he will save that question for if she does not satisfy his curiosity with other answers.

"Because you are a stranger in this land, passing through to the south, or to the north." She tilts her head, watching him still. "They answer only to me, young one. None other can command their loyalty."

"And who are you, that commands the loyalty of the chosers of the slain?" He shifts when she turns fully toward him, a stance better for defense, if he needed to fight.

Laughter, harsh and mocking, bursts from her. "I am the Morrigan, young one. I _am_ the choser of the slain. The battle-queen, whose subjects are phantoms." There is more than she says to what she is, but now isn't the time to press for the answers. It is enough to know she is a queen - a goddess of the people here, no doubt - and as such would wish to know of those who pass through her lands, small as they might be. The rest he can learn over time.

"Then shall I ask your leave to pass through these lands in my travels?" Loki raises an eyebrow, curious as to what her answer would be. "Or should I find another way to travel?"

"You have my leave, or I would have stopped you when first they told me of your journeys." The Morrigan shrugs, her short tunic fluttering with the movement - there are feathers clinging to it, or sewn to it, as dark as the fabric itself. "I wished to see what manner of man passed through." She smiles then, bright and sharp, and spreads her arms once more, before leaping. It seems she shifts as she does, a flock of crows rising, all calling raucously.


End file.
